The Sorrow of Ages
by PuffofLogic
Summary: Goodbyes were always easier than deaths. Even when they weren't." An in depth look at Donna in the final scenes of Journey's End. A repost with spoilers for Journey's End.


_**Sorrow of Ages**_

Donna Noble, the Human-Time Lady, the first, the only, felt The Doctor's loss keenly, inside and out. His sadness was pervasive throughout the TARDIS, and her new mind noted the terrible irony of his never seeing Rose again, even as he achieved all he had ever hoped for in a life with her. It tore him apart as it healed his soul. The knowledge tore part of Donna too.

And even as that part of her grieved for him, another grieved for herself. Her loss to come. Her death. The loss of everything she'd known, everything she knew, and everything she had had yet to learn. The loss of the Universe his mind had shown her and the loss of her future—with him—in that Universe. Deep inside, she couldn't breath.

Still, she bobbed around the TARDIS, providing The Doctor and herself a needed but futile distraction, as painful flares began bursting in her mind. Even her rambling hurt. The places never gone to. The people never met. The loss of innumerable opportunities she hadn't before believed possible. He questioned her, she answered his queries, knowing where they led and attempting to divert the inevitable with false enthusiasm.

_Molto bene._

Then a stuck record moment destroyed the illusion of well being. It was ignored entirely even as it was wholly focused upon.

_I'm fine._

The human part of her couldn't imagine living with the almost limitless ability this mind contained. That defined the problem, but the knowledge _hurt_, raw and aching. Human Donna could've only guessed at what she was losing. Doctor-Donna _knew_. Knew _exactly_ what she was losing. She could see the beauty of the stars she would never gaze upon; hear the songs that never would be sung before her, feel the texture of the alien grass of a world she would never set foot on. Deep inside, she couldn't swallow for the sorrow, couldn't see for the tears.

Another short circuit, a flash of pain and she knew her façade was over. Not that it had ever really been believed. He knew. And so did she.

_Oh my god._

Again he asked, again she answered. Everything came into sharp relief. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the way it was supposed to be, the way it was supposed to end. Her mind saw denial, but let it go. This _wasn't_ how it all should end. She knew.

_Because there can't be._

The knowledge was absolute. And devastating. She had no hope, she had no future. This was it. This was all she had. This was all she'd ever wanted. Needed. Hoped for. And it was almost gone.

_I want to stay._

She couldn't look at him. Wouldn't. Everything she was losing was on his face. In his eyes. If she didn't look, she wouldn't have to know. She wouldn't have to leave. She wouldn't have to die.

"Donna. Look at me."

She did.

If only to make him understand.

_I was going to be with you. Forever._

But, of course, he did.

He always did.

He understood like no one else could possibly understand. The sadness on his face encompassed the whole of time. It was a sorrow of all ages, times long gone and eras yet to come. It was not for himself, but for her. For her loss.

_**Not**_for her death.

The realization struck, and he came forward.

This was worse. This was so worse. This was so, so, _so _inexpressively, impossibly, unbearably_ worse._ Her mind, stilled with sorrow, burst painfully into life.

_Please, don't make me go back._

She wasn't just losing a future full of adventure, a past of excitement and learning. She was losing _herself_. Her very being, the person she'd become. The person she'd always been meant to be.

Firm, yet gentle hands held her.

"Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry."

Somewhere, deep inside, her heart wouldn't beat.

She looked at him, the man she'd cared for in a way only she had truly known. She looked at him and begged him, begged him not to with her eyes. With her tears. She didn't want this. Not this. Ever. It was better to die than to not have been.

"But we had the best of times. The best."

But as she stared at him, his deep sad eyes, she knew. She knew him, knew his grief, his guilt and his pain. And she knew she would let him.

Her head bowed, tears fell. He needed her to live more than she needed to die. That was it. It was True, and she would let him. He would always need someone to live, because he couldn't stand it. The pain. His pain. His sorrow and his grief. Goodbyes were always easier than deaths. Even when they weren't. And he didn't realize. Not yet.

Her mind distantly noted irony again. She would sacrifice herself, even as he saved her. She hoped he would never realize.

"Goodbye."

She slammed the knowledge to the back of her mind. Locked it away from his reach. She pleaded again, more frightened than she'd believed. More terrified then she would ever be again. His cool fingers pressed softly against her temples and suddenly he was there.

And she wasn't.

Her memory slipped, her grip faded and Donna Noble was gone.



The Doctor caught Donna as she fell against him. His eyes stung, but tears stayed, his hearts ached, but time kept going. Sorrow draped around him.

She was gone. His wonderful, marvelous, brilliant Donna Noble was gone and he would never see or speak with her again, not really. But she was alive, and that was what really mattered. He had saved her.

Alone in the empty expanse of the TARDIS, The Doctor stood silent with his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him.

_Goodbye._


End file.
